


just close your eyes

by falling_stars



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: AR, AU, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Complete, One-Shot, Second Titan War, TLO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 07:03:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falling_stars/pseuds/falling_stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She closes her eyes. Lightning strikes. - Thalia-centric one-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just close your eyes

**just close your eyes**

* * *

 

It takes a second for the blade to pierce his neck and a minute for him to stop breathing.

Her heart skips a beat as the giant falls toward the ground; she takes a sharp breath as he turns to ice and shatters, but no one notices in the rush of things. There is screaming and running and falling and fighting and dying and Thalia is just a speck of light in a supernova of fear and desperation. She composes herself (as best you can in an uphill battle), and shoves the knife back into her belt.

She takes a quick glance at her surroundings; the sun is rising and the monsters are retreating, like they always do when morning comes. It's the third day they've been fighting like this; Thalia's tired, and so are the other demigods. It's not the lie-down-in-bed-at-the-end-of-the-day tired; it's the sort of tiredness that you can feel in your bones, a fatigue that's mental, physical, and emotional.

She makes her way to the Plaza and tries to find an empty room. It makes her just a little sad, looking through the open doorways of the rooms she passes. Everywhere she sees demigods grieving, sleeping fitfully, being healed by grim-faced Apollo campers who look like they haven't slept in more than a day. They probably haven't. When Thalia finds an empty room, she closes and locks the door, sits on the edge of the bed, and buries her head in her hands.

* * *

"Thalia," someone calls, but she's not ready to wake up. She rolls over on her side and squeezes her eyes shut tighter. Maybe, if she ignores them, they'll go away.

"Thalia!" whoever it is says again. Thalia groans.

"What do you want?" she snaps. She can feel the mattress sink a little under extra weight as the person who woke her sits down next to her.

"They're back, Pinecone Face," they say. Percy. They'd become better friends since the quest to Mount Tam. At the time, Thalia had thought the only thing they had in common was Annabeth. But he had felt the pressure of being the prophecy child too, even though he wasn't in the end. He still felt pressure; he was Percy Jackson, and even if he wasn't the savior, he was the best swordfighter alive, apparently, and he had had plenty of successful quests. Now he was feeling, possibly, worse than Thalia; Charles Beckendorf had died recently on a mission, and Percy had been his questing partner. Feeling responsible for someone's death was the worst thing in the world. She had thought she'd killed Luke, but the bastard just won't die.

She sits up and blinks hard. Even the dim lamplight of the hotel room is blinding after her dark nightmares. They've gotten worse since the invasion. She turns to look out the window, she sees that they sky is darkening. She's slept for almost an entire day, but still doesn't feel rested. Her vision's still a bit blurry, and everything is already a bit fuzzy in the grayish light, so the approaching monster army is only a slow-moving dark mass. That doesn't make it any less intimidating.

"OK," she says, and then she repeats it in a whisper, to herself: "OK," even though she knows it won't be.

* * *

Day four and they're still clinging to survival. It's freezing; the sky is gray and snow falls past the frosted windows. Thalia makes a mental note to snatch a new winter coat from one of the many unattended department stores on the island.

It's around noon, and they've all holed-up in the hotel to escape the weather. Percy, Thalia, Annabeth, and Malcolm are all in the same room, sitting uncomfortably on the floor. It's silent; Thalia had called them for a strategy meeting, but she can't, for once, think of anything to say. Percy fidgets a bit farther away from Annabeth and keeps his eyes trained on the floor. Thalia opens her mouth to say something, but then Annabeth says,

"We're losing."

Malcolm snorts. "Well," he says, "looks like you've developed a new talent in your absence: stating the obvious." He's still a little bitter at Annabeth for leaving Camp, Thalia realizes. That's bad. The enemy is too big for them to waste energy fighting amongst themselves.

Before Annabeth can reply, Thalia says, "We need a bigger army. Any ideas?"

" _Ideas?_ There's no one else, Thals. We're on our own for now. The Hunters are here and so are the Party Ponies. The gods obviously won't be any help. We'll just have to keep on fighting."

Thalia massages her temples. "You're probably right. We've hit a dead end."

Annabeth huffs in irritation. "There's no such thing. There's always a way."

"Really?" says Thalia, because she's fed up with hoping and trying and praying and, honestly, the girl who can take anything can't take this. She was made to snark and fight; she wasn't made to strategize and hold together an army of already falling apart heroes. "And what might that be?"

* * *

On Olympus, Hestia sits, as always, by her fire. It's been reduced to embers, but still produces a reasonable amount of heat.

Settled comfortably into the warm ashes is a clay jar. As, far below, a heroine straps on her armor, its glow flickers.

* * *

"You won't do this," he says—but it's not really  _him_ , is it? It's someone else, some _thing_ else, with golden eyes and a cold voice.

"You know you can't do it. Is it really worth losing a friend? You can't kill me, you know. It will be a pointless effort. All of this"—he makes a grand, all-encompassing gesture—"for nothing."

"No," she says. " _No._ " She's come too far to believe that she led dozens to death for nothing.

He smirks. "You don't even know where to stab, do you? Haven't thought of that, have you? Stupid, stupid girl."

"Luke always said," she begins, but then stops to steady her voice. "He always said that the inside of your elbow is safest. No one expects it there, no one strikes there."

Kronos laughs. "Are you  _sure_ , little girl? Wouldn't want to waste any time on wild guesses."

She isn't sure. "I'm sure," she says. Being a demigod teaches you to bluff your way out of things. "And his sword arm is his right," she says more confidently, stepping forward. "So," she continues, and takes another step, "he would have chosen his left elbow, so as not to expose it while fighting."

"Clever," Kronos tells her dryly. "Quite clever. But how," he says, 'will you ever beat—" And then Percy blasts him backwards with a mass of water.

It would be too easy. Just blast him, says a little voice in her head. The current would travel. It would be over. A war ended; countless deaths avenged and even more prevented. Another Golden Age stopped before its beginning.

Except it's not. He may not be her friend, but he has his face, his voice…

Kronos stumbles to his feet. He'd fallen into Hestia's hearth, and Thalia can see the outline of her face glowing in the ashes. She looks angry.

Gold eyes meet blue. The faces of the dead flash through Thalia's mind, and it is not easy, but it is possible.

She closes her eyes. Lightning strikes.

* * *

"I pledge myself to the goddess Artemis. I turn my back on the company of men, accept eternal maidenhood, and join the Hunt."

Thalia stands, slowly. Artemis smiles at her, and Annabeth pulls her into a hug.

"Welcome, sister."

As she slips into the silver jacket, she knows this is one oath she won't have a problem keeping.

**Author's Note:**

> a billion thank yous to my friend andie for the first and last lines, the inspiration, and the praise.


End file.
